Something about the way Harrow relishes this loving dissection of the disparate parts that make up one golden-eyed cavalier make this whole scenario a lot hotter than it has any right to be. That, and the personal bias Gideon fully acknowledges is washing all of it with hormones so thick that it almost seems downright romantic.

Harrow is practical. She's fascinated by the ways the body works, and what she can do with that information, and Gideon is absolutely helpless beneath her scholarly touch, beneath Harrow's obvious enjoyment of the body Gideon works hard to keep fit and ready. Despite her teasing, Gideon's muscle aren't for vanity's sake: she trained to be Cohort-ready at a moment's notice. Not just ready, but outstanding. Excellence.

Harrow's love for her body feels like acknowledgment of all that work and dedication and she never knew she needed that like she needs water when she's thirsty.

She settles one light hand on Harrow's hip and stretches the other behind her head, and watches Harrow with heavy-lidded, hugely dilated eyes, shivering deliciously as Harrow trails her fingers expertly over her skin, opening her mouth to gently bite at and kiss the fingers which rest there. "Your favorite?"